


the ties that bind

by wherecourageisfound



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-10
Updated: 2014-11-10
Packaged: 2018-02-24 19:33:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2593694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wherecourageisfound/pseuds/wherecourageisfound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky has had many birthdays, but, in the end, the days don’t really matter to him anymore (as long as he always gets to count the moments with Steve).</p>
            </blockquote>





	the ties that bind

**Author's Note:**

> \- for the 2014 Steve/Bucky Mini-Bang -  
> Shout out to my beta, Maddy [[tumblr](http://bisexualsteve.tumblr.com)/[ao3](http://archiveofourown.org/users/delicateclarity)] for all her help (& amazing ability to put up with my procrastination). Love you, Maddy!  
> I'd also like to thank my artist, Nina, for all the hard work that went into her art (Coming Soon!) & for choosing me in the bang! <3 You can find her on [tumblr](http://imyourfriendyouremymission.tumblr.com/). She's absolutely lovely in every way, go check her out!
> 
> A.N.: I took liberties with certain times, details, & characters (i.e. Steve’s mother’s death, Bucky’s age, the hint at the rogue’s child). Nothing too major, just little facts and tidbits.

Bucky is six years old when he meets Steve. He’s all bones, scrawny and short, and for a minute, Bucky is seriously concerned that the wind might blow him right over. Surprisingly enough, Steve remains standing, blue eyes burning brightly. He thrusts his hand forward, and subtly tilts his head at Bucky, encouraging him to do the same. Confused, Bucky returns the gesture. He’s surprised by the firm grasp made by the thin fingers.

“I’m Bucky Barnes. Well, my Momma calls me James, but everyone else calls me Bucky,” he starts. His Momma always says only fools shake without words, and Bucky definitely ain’t no fool.

Steve smiles in return, and if that look doesn’t seal his fate forever, then the following words do.

“I’m Steve. Steve Rogers.”

-

Bucky is ten years old, and boy does he wish Steve would stay still. It’s hard enough to patch him up with what little bandages they have, let alone the fact that he keeps twitching every time Bucky moves.

“Ow, geez Bucky, would it kill ya to be a little more gentle over there?” Steve asks as he flinches away from the rubbing alcohol.

“I don’t know Steve, would it kill ya not to start a fight every three seconds?” Bucky shoots back at him. “I feel like I spend more time cleaning up after _your_ messes, than helping you make them!”

At the outburst, Steve shuts up and slowly leans back into Bucky’s space. He places his forehead next to Bucky’s collar and mumbles a quick “sorry” into his shirt.

“What’s that? You say something to me Steve, or did you say it to my shirt, punk?”

Steve pulls back quickly, face bright red. Unable to make eye contact, he chooses to stare at Bucky’s hands instead. Knowing that he’s not going to get another response, Bucky changes the subject.

“You know, you can’t go picking fights with every guy that’s bigger than you, Steve,” Bucky huffs.

“I don’t go ‘picking fights,’” Steve sullenly replies. “I just… I can’t stand a bully, especially one that goes around pickin’ on little kids. Besides,” Steve begins with a laugh, “everyone’s bigger than me, Buck.”

Bucky just ruffles Steve’s hair in response, hoping that he doesn’t notice the fake smile Bucky has plastered all over his face. Steve’s tiny for sure, weighing in at only 80 pounds ( _wet_ , Bucky thinks to himself) with his 4’7” frame , but he’s got the biggest heart he’s ever seen. At the moment, he’s also got the brightest shiner. Bucky winces and brings his hand up to his face, gesturing to his own eye.

“Does it hurt?” he asks.

“Does what hurt? Oh, my eye?” Steve says, “Nah, just a little sore - probably looks a lot worse than it feels, to be honest, and anyway Bucky, I got away lucky considering the number you did to the other guy.”

Hiding his bruised and battered fists, Bucky laughs (it sounds empty to him, he hopes Steve doesn’t notice) and makes an offhand joke about the poor bastard. Steve laughs, and his voice is pure and full of life, a sharp contrast to Bucky’s own.

He’s never been so grateful for it.

-

Bucky is fourteen years old and the weather’s frigidly cold outside, but Steve’s hands are _freezing_ , and Bucky wonders how the hell they haven’t gotten frostbite yet. He tries shoving another blanket on top of Steve, tucking the corners under his limbs, but as usual, Steve protests and pushes it back towards him.

“You need it,” he whispers, “I’ve got enough, Buck.”

 _You don’t_ , he thinks. _You never have enough. Enough food, enough warmth, enough_ **_anything_**.

Picking up on the awkward silence, Steve nudges Bucky’s shoulder.

“Geez Buck, you’re thinking so hard I can hear you. Don’t strain yourself,” he says through a laugh.

“Yeah, you’re right Steve. I gotta be saving my three and a half brain cells for the dames. I hear they like a man that can walk and breathe at the same time.”

“Just be careful not to breathe on them, one whiff of what’s goin’ on in your mouth and they’ll be heading for the hills, praying that your talents don’t extend to _running_ and breathing.”

Nearly falling off the worn out bed, Bucky and Steve curl up in laughter, clutching their sides. Tears are forming in the corners of his eyes and his stomach is starting to ache from the force, but Bucky couldn’t care less. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt as happy as he does at this moment.

“Punk,” he whispers after his breathing finally calms down.

“Jerk,” Steve chokes back at him, still laughing slightly.

Bucky smirks and tells Steve to move his scrawny ass over. Despite all the warm laughter, the house is still cold, and Bucky slowly moves himself and the blanket closer to Steve. He listens as Steve’s breathing evens out, and his heartbeat slows to a steady beat. Lying on his back, he looks up at the leaky ceiling and sighs. Now, the ladies at his Momma’s church always tell Bucky to talk to God when he needs help, but Bucky’s beginning to think that maybe God doesn’t like to listen. He keeps asking God why he has to be the one with the drafty home. I mean, c’mon, he’s already dirt poor and parentless, why’s He gotta throw shitty circulation into the mix? But then he remembers that God gave him Steve, and thinks that maybe, just maybe, it evens things out a little bit.

-

Bucky is sixteen years old, and really thinks that sex isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. He did everything he was supposed to do - take her out, buy her flowers, tell her that she’s pretty, but when it came down to the actual sex part? Yeah, not as great as he had hoped.

The girl, Mary, is real nice and sophisticated – the kind of dame you’re supposed to marry. She’s tiny and girly, with blonde hair, blue eyes, and a pale complexion. She’s even got a smile, he thinks, bordering on a little too familiar. Bucky wonders if that’s the problem - the similarity, or maybe, maybe not similar enough. _But no, it can’t be that_ , he thinks to himself. After all, he’s definitely not queer, right? Bucky doesn’t look at most guys like he looks at the dames, but then again, Steve’s not like most guys.

Mary asks him if something’s wrong, why he’s not moving, and Bucky’s embarrassed for a second before soldiering on. _I’m just nervous_ , he thinks, but he knows he’s lying. He can feel it deep down in his chest. His hands reach for bony hips, but they touch smooth curves; his mouth brushes soft lips ( _he wishes they were chapped_ ). He’s not even hard, and Mary’s finally noticed.

“Uh, can you, you know…?” Mary starts, trailing off at the end.

“Yeah, yeah definitely!” Bucky blurts out, “just, uh, give me a second.”

They wait.

Nothing changes ( _except for the atmosphere_ , he notes).

Ears tinged red, Bucky watches Mary’s red lips curl up into a frown. _She’s got a nice mouth_. Bucky’s impressed, and he realizes that if he closes his eyes, he can reimagine who those lips belong to.

Eyes still closed, Bucky feels Mary shuffle about. He feels guilty, after all, it’s not her fault that she’s not what he wants. It’s not her fault that the only way he can get it up is by thinking about his _fucking best friend_. His cock twitches at that thought, and he wants to laugh and cry and scream – all at the same time. Thinking about the word _fuck_ in regards to Steve gives him something, but having a full-fledged woman practically prostrating herself in front of him does nothing – he’s pathetic. He doesn’t deserve Steve, or even Mary for Christ’s sake.

Bucky quits his daydreaming and reopens his eyes. Mary’s been silent for so long, he’s beginning to wonder if she’s left.

She hasn’t.

She’s at the foot of the bed, kneeling in front of his legs, waiting for him to give the okay. His breath shutters, and he gives the nod. _Better than fucking nothing_ , he guesses. Already done with the button, she slowly pulls down the zipper, the dragging sound echoing off into the silence. Mary’s hesitant, and it’s comforting to know that she’s as new to this as he is ( _it’s comforting for another reason entirely_ ). In the end, Bucky’s the one that pulls out his dick (still soft). Looking up, blue eyes stare straight into brown, and then with a lick of her lips, Mary leans forward.

Wanting the last thing he sees to be the blue, Bucky closes his eyes, and just feels.

It’s funny, he thinks to himself, how the closest person to him, at the moment, is the farthest from his mind.

-

Bucky is 18 years old, and his heart has never hurt as much as it does now. It’s late at night, has to be nearing at least 1 A.M., and Steve’s still curled up next to him on the old, beaten couch, crying softly. His mom has finally died. It’s cruel, Bucky knows, for Steve’s mom to power through the flu and scarlet fever and so many other terrible diseases, only to be taken by a cough and slight fever years later.

It had seemed like Steve was okay, at least to the public’s eye. He was okay when he came home (with Bucky of course, because what is the pair if not inseparable) and called his mom, receiving no answer. He was okay when he found her, lying on the ground, body grown cold. He was even okay when they took her from his arms and placed her in the ground.

But now? Now, he’s really not okay. Bucky doesn’t think he honestly ever was, that instead he had just gotten real good at faking. It’s been hours since they’ve gotten home, hours since Bucky had to practically force Steve to let him in (to both the house and his heart), and Steve’s only gotten worse. It starts out quietly, Bucky doesn’t even notice Steve’s tears until the first whimper sneaks out. It stabs Bucky in the chest like a knife, and he does the only thing that he thinks would help Steve – he hugs him. Then, the sobs really hit Steve, his entire body shaking with the force of his sorrow.

“God, Buck, I’m sorry. I’m actin’ like a little kid. It’s just-” Steve chokes back another hard sob. His voice wavers as he continues. “I thought I was _ready_ for this. I’m not stupid Buck, I knew she was gonna go someday. I just didn’t expect it to hurt this bad, and I’m all alone an-”

“You’re not alone,” Bucky cuts in. “You’ll always have me. Remember, it’s you and me, Steve…”

“Till the end of the line,” Steve finishes with a sad smile.

“That’s right,” Bucky says, pulling Steve closer to him, making sure the blanket is snug across his best friend’s chest. “We may not got a lot Steve, but we got each other. And I don’t know about you, but that’s definitely good enough for me.”

Steve’s silent and Bucky’s a bit nervous now, maybe that outburst was too much for Steve? Maybe Steve doesn’t think of Bucky as being all that great a thing to have ( _he knows he’s not, he just hopes Steve doesn’t believe that_ ).

“Is it…I mean, good enough?” he questions.

Steve looks up from Bucky’s chest. He has to maneuver his upper body around to be able to respond comfortably and he accidentally elbows Bucky in the process ( _he doesn’t care, any touch from Steve is a good thing_ ), but his smile’s as bright as it always his, despite the red, blotchy skin from crying and tiredness in his eyes ( _he has beautiful eyes_ ).

“Yeah Buck, it’s good enough. You’ll always be good enough.”

Bucky returns the smile (a real one for once) and lets Steve reposition himself before snuggling closer into the skinny man and the mountain of blankets (it’s moments like these that Bucky’s kind of glad for bad circulation). He can safely say, in this moment, that he’s happy. He could die tomorrow and not give a damn if the last thing he could hear and hold was his best friend ( _the love of his life_ ). Letting his eyes drift close, Bucky’s only thought remains.

_Till the end of line, Steve._

-

Bucky is 21 years old, and he’s having the time of his life. With his best friend on one side and a cold drink in the other, he really can’t imagine how much better this birthday can get. They left the bar a while ago, but they’ve taken to just milling around the town, drunk off their rockers - more Bucky than Steve. He’s been trying to corral Steve into letting lose, and hopes that by singing loudly, and extremely off-key ( _there’s a reason Bucky was never a choirboy_ ), it’ll maybe tempt Steve into joining in (it doesn’t, but Steve seems to be having fun at his expense nonetheless).

“Buck, I swear if I hear you sing Blue Moon one more time.”

“Awh, can it, Steve. You just wish you could sing as well as me.”

Steve snorts and stumbles a bit on the road, but Bucky’s there to catch him ( _like always_ ). It’s completely normal, Steve falling and Bucky catching him - only this time, this time - Bucky doesn’t let go. Steve doesn’t react, and if he even notices, he certainly doesn’t seem to care. So, if Bucky leans a little closer and holds a little tighter, who’s going to complain? Besides, if Steve brings it up, he can just laugh and blame it on the alcohol. Bucky imagines the conversation now. Steve will ask why he’s so close, and Bucky will reply with something snappy or witty like _awh sorry Steve, probably shouldn’t have drank the whole bar right?_ and Steve will laugh, like he always does, and send his whole rattling retort Bucky’s way (“ _Nah, you should’ve saved some for the rest of us, jerk_ ”).

He’s so caught up with his own fantasies that he doesn’t even realize when he and Steve make it back to the apartment. It’s not until Steve’s bony elbow cuts him clear across the chest that he even begins to wipe the dopey, star struck look off his face.

“Geez, Buck you weigh a ton, ya know? Mind movin’ over a bit? At least so I can unlock the door?” Steve asks, reaching for his back pockets. Suddenly, his _~~pert~~ ~~supple~~_ mouth forms into a tiny frown and Bucky sees his eyebrows furrowing in displeasure. “Shoot Bucky, you got your spare on you? I think I lost my keys. I thought they were in my pockets when I left home earlier, but I guess I must have left them inside.”

Bucky doesn’t have his keys, and he tells Steve just that, but it doesn’t matter, they always keep a spare under their little welcome rock (Steve insisted on it, though Bucky’d personally prefer a _keep out_ one). Finally removing his arms from around Steve’s waist, Bucky kicks the rock over, maybe a little too forcibly in Steve’s opinion (Bucky can feel his frown digging into his back), and bends over to grab the spare key. Straightening up, he fails to notice Steve’s wandering eyes and moves to push the key into the hole. Throwing open the door obnoxiously, Bucky bellows _Home Sweet Home_ loudly, to Steve’s chagrin ( _to the neighbors’ too_ , he thinks smugly). He tugs Steve in, out from the cold, and slams the door a little too loud to be considered polite (Bucky never really was a stickler for manners though).

Despite the racket Bucky’s making, Steve still finds himself smiling at the taller boy’s shenanigans. It’s the crooked, completely smashed grin Bucky sends his way that really gets the scrawny boy beaming. They’re so close, he can feel Bucky’s warm breath wafting onto his face (it smells like stale beer – but Steve can’t find it in himself enough to care) and the warmth radiating off his body in waves. Only an inch or two is left between them, easily overtaken if one of the two tilted their heads down (or up, in Steve’s case).

It’s Bucky that makes the move first, placing his hand up to curl around Steve’s chin. He slowly tilts his head down, and when his lips brush against Steve’s they’re tentative and unsure, utterly afraid of what’s next. Steve quells the worries by moving his own hands slowly up Bucky’s sides, stroking them sweetly. He presses his lips harder against Bucky’s, and that’s when Bucky snaps. He drags Steve’s body up against his, so tight that Steve feels everything ( _everything_ ) and shoves him up against the frame of the door. Bucky kisses like he’s dying, Steve notes in a haze, like Steve is the last breath he’s ever going to get ( _the last breath he ever wants_ ), and he returns it with just as much passion, hands shooting up to curl into Bucky’s hair. He pulls Bucky even closer, and Bucky’s thigh slots between Steve’s, and Steve tosses his head back, groaning deeply. Bucky starts to grind his hips forward, throwing caution to the wind, because _holy shit he’s kissing Steve and Christ he’s so hard and so is Steve and fuck fuck fuck Steve_ , and then Steve is moaning and _oh god_. It’s so quiet that Bucky would have missed it had he not been mouthing at the curve of Steve’s neck, and he swears that he’s never heard a more beautiful sound.  

Now, if Bucky were more sober (and lacking a major hard-on), he probably would’ve looked at this scene and laughed. Two grown men, old enough to legally drink, grinding and breathing out wanton moans like a couple of horny teenagers. Unfortunately for Bucky (or maybe fortunately, he hasn’t quite figured that part out yet), he is neither of those things. He is, however, enjoying his friend’s inebriation perhaps a little bit too much. Steve’s hands are everywhere and yet he wants more, and the rough calluses on his palms are exactly what Bucky needs inching up his back ( _Steve is exactly what Bucky needs_ ).

Steve’s moans are getting louder with each thrust, and Bucky’s sure that even the neighbors can hear at this point ( _he doesn’t care_ ). The doorframe rattles, and that makes Bucky slow down, because he doesn’t want to hurt Steve ( _he never wants to hurt Steve_ ), but Steve just pulls him in tighter and practically sobs out a “No, no. Don’t go. Please. I need you”. Bucky just strokes Steve’s hair and whispers back into his ear “Shhh, I’ve got you, baby. It’s okay. I won’t ever leave you. Never. I’m here, baby.” He’s desperate at this point, nearing the edge, and he feels Steve reaching his tipping point too. Almost there, but not quite.

He removes his hand from Steve’s hair (but keeps the other behind his head, so that it’ll push Steve’s forehead against his own), and uses it to unzip Steve’s pants. The button’s a little trickier, with Bucky being one handed and all, but he eventually gets it unsnapped. Slipping his hand down, all it takes is one, two, three strokes and then Steve’s coming, crying Bucky’s name ( _God, he’s beautiful_ ). Seeing Steve lose control is the final straw for Bucky, he shoves against Steve’s body once more and comes, trembling and swearing. Steve’s slumped up against him, all feeling lost in his legs, unable to move. Rather than just leave Steve there, Bucky scoops the small man up into his arms, one under his knees, the other behind his back.

“I can walk on my own, Buck,” Steve mumbles into his shirt (though he makes no move to pull away).

“I know,” Bucky pants, “I know you can.”

It’s only a few feet from the doorway to their room (their place isn’t very big, but Bucky appreciates the nearness), though it still feels like miles. He has to kick a few discarded clothes out of the way, but he makes his way over to the bed without an issue. He lays Steve down gently, strips him of his clothes (he’d rather Steve be embarrassed later than uncomfortable sleeping now), and slowly pulls the covers up to his chin. It seems like Steve’s out like a light the moment his head hits the pillow, so Bucky thinks it safe to lean over, kiss his forehead, and smoothe out his hair. Before making his exit though, he whispers _I love you_ under his breath.

Later, when he’s sober, he’ll wonder if Steve heard.

( _He did._ )

-

Bucky is 24 years old and drafted into the army. Steve is thrilled when he first hears, he’s so happy for Bucky, even faced with his own rejection ( _again_ ). He’s so happy that Bucky doesn’t have the heart to tell Steve how he really feels about the conscription. How does he tell his best friend, one whose unachievable dream is to be able to stand up and fight for the U.S., that he doesn’t want anything to do with it? That’s the thing – he can’t ( _Bucky knows that_ ), but it still hurts not being able to confide in the one person he’s got left.

Leaving in the morning, Bucky’s only got a few hours left till he has to abandon his home ( _only a few hours left until he has to abandon Steve – his real home_ ), and he’s sitting on his porch, drinking, just wasting them away. It’s pathetic and his gut churns in disdain; he’s angry, angry at the Nazis for causing this war, angry at the U.S. for making him fight, angry at the encouragement he receives from Steve to go ( _but never angry at Steve_ ). Why doesn’t Steve want him to stay? _Doesn’t Steve want him?_

They haven’t talked about what happened that night. Bucky thinks Steve doesn’t remember, but even if he does, it’s clear that he doesn’t plan on ever bringing it up. If it’s only friendship that Steve wants, then that’s okay. Bucky’s okay. But, leaving Steve is a torture he’s not quite sure he’s able to bear.

His anxiety must show on his face (maybe Steve just sees the tension in his body), but soon enough, Steve’s out on the porch too, sitting right next to Bucky, hand on his shoulder. It seems only natural for Bucky to lean into the touch, a simple, sweet comfort, especially since he’s going to lose it soon. He closes his eyes, and feels Steve slowly rubbing his shoulder, soothing the tension out bit by bit. He’s not talking, and Bucky’s glad for it. Steve seems to know that words aren’t what Bucky needs right now.

The silence isn’t awkward, but it’s not comfortable by any means. It’s just... there. Necessary, but unwanted at the same time. The only thing Bucky hears, or is paying attention to for that matter, is Steve’s steady breathing. It’s something Bucky used to painstakingly listen for. He and Steve always had to be careful at night, when Steve was sleeping (especially during the winter when the air got stale, and so, so cold), because his breathing would slow down or stop completely. In those cases, Bucky remembers rushing to Steve’s side, shaking him awake, praying that that wouldn’t be the night God takes away the one good thing he’s got. (It’s ironic now, he thinks, how God’s taking Bucky away instead).

He wishes he had the courage to break the silence. He wishes he had the courage to tell Steve everything, to just bear his heart and soul and hope for the best. But he can’t seem to find the will inside himself. Reality is, Bucky’s a coward.

Bucky wishes he was as brave as Steve. Because Steve? Steve is just _brilliant_. Despite how tiny he is and what’s been thrown at him, Steve is the best damn person Bucky has ever known. Nobody deserves Steve. Hell the whole wide world doesn’t deserve Steve ( _least of all Bucky_ ), but they have him ( _Bucky doesn’t anymore_ ). All they do is underestimate him, all they see is a scrawny kid from Brooklyn who’s got too many health problems and too little money. But Bucky knows different. Bucky knows Steve, and deep down (where he’s locked all his real feelings away), the selfish part of Bucky doesn’t want the world to know what he does.

He knows what a great artist Steve is, how he can make the dull world around them beautiful. He knows how much Steve cares, how much he loves. He knows how much Steve would sacrifice to save another ( _everything_ ). But most importantly, he knows how much better off Steve would be without him.

It’s with that final thought that Bucky’s breathing catches, and what comes out, startling both himself and Steve, is the beginning of a harsh sob. Steve pulls him to his chest, and all Bucky can hope now is that his tears won’t ruin Steve’s shirt.

\-                                                                                                                                        

Bucky is almost 26 and Steve is… well, Steve is different (for a lack of a better word, he guesses). He’s definitely physically different at least. But to be completely honest, Bucky’s not even entirely sure if the person carrying him to safety right now is actually Steve. He thinks it is, but it’s hard to tell through all the drugs Zola’s been pumping through his system. For all he knows, he’s still strapped to that table in the torture chamber Zola likes to call a lab.

He’s being dragged through what seems to be the remains of a Nazi base, Steve shouldering most of his weight. However, before he and Steve can really get to safety, some freak with a red face jumps in front of their path ( _fucking asshole_ ).

“You don’t have one of those, right?” he whispers to Steve, because fuck that thing’s scary as shit and Bucky’s not sure how he feels about being best friends with a Satan look-a-like (but really who is he kidding, he’d be fine with anything as long as it’s with Steve).

Johann Schmidt, or Red Skull, as he likes to be called, is blabbering on about some nonsense Bucky doesn’t think he’s coherent enough to be listening to, let alone understand. Something about Steve not being just a soldier, that he’s more than that. Of course, he is. All anyone has to do is take one look at Steve and see what he’s destined for, what he can do. But if Schmidt thinks Steve’s anything like him he’s sadly mistaken.

Because even in Schmidt’s greatest moment, he’s an ant compared to Steve’s god.

He thinks Steve says something to Schmidt as he heads out the door, but Bucky’s so lost in his own thoughts that the only thing he registers is Steve’s voice. It’s silent for a moment, as if Steve’s waiting for something - _more like he forgot that the lab was gonna blow in mere minutes_ , Bucky thinks, sniggering at his own morbid excuse for a joke.

But then the floor shakes and the surrounding pipes explode, and Bucky remembers that this situation isn’t actually that funny. He remembers that unless he and Steve move out now, they will both actually die and that death, believe it or not, tends to put a damper on a beautiful reunion.

Schmidt seems to recognize the danger too. He and Zola have already climbed in the elevator ( _aren’t there safety protocols against elevators in emergencies?_ , he wonders) and are making their way out of the building. Steve pushes Bucky to go ahead, and he’s hesitant to leave Steve, but he knows it’s best not to get in his way so he does as he’s told. Making to follow him, Steve steps forward, but the bridge gives way to fallen machinery.

There’s flames and death all around Bucky like his own personal hell incarnate and he’s struggling to even stand, weak from Zola’s lab treatments and the heavy smoke from the room. The last thing he sees before he blacks out is Steve taking a running leap to join him on the other side.

Because even if he loses everything ( _his life, his hope_ ), he won’t ever lose the sight of Steve running back to him.

-

Bucky is not 26. Instead, Bucky is falling.

When people talk about near-death experiences, they always mention seeing a bright light or their loved ones. They always fail to mention the agonizing pain.

It hurts to move. It hurts to breath. It hurts to fucking _blink_ , and Bucky finds himself wishing that he _had_ died. Anything would be better than seeing the devastation cross Steve’s face as the railing snaps and Bucky plummets to the white, snow-covered ground.

He can’t hear anything. Not that it would matter if he did. No human would dare to hang around wherever the hell he is without an intense fear of frostbite or starvation. Bucky would look around to check his surroundings, but he’s pretty sure he can’t move his neck.

He isn’t really willing to try anyway.

Now that the initial impact has faded, only half of him thinks death would be a blessing at this moment. He’s not stupid, he knows the chance of survival is next to impossible. After all, it’s not like Steve is going to come after him. Steve probably thinks he’s dead, and besides, Steve has a mission to complete.

Captain America can’t quit a war, especially for a poor boy from Brooklyn.

Is death really instantaneous or does the human body place itself in a sort of physical limbo before it shuts down? Every torn muscle, every broken bone is screaming at Bucky that the latter is correct, but he’s not so sure. A fall like that should have killed him, but here he is - stuck in the snow, unmoving.

Will Steve miss him? He wonders. Part of him thinks yes, but Steve is the kind of person who misses everyone. He can wonder about Steve’s feelings, but he knows for sure that Steve will be fine without him, better off even ( _he’s always known that_ ).

Steve will come back from the war, a little worse for wear, but still whole. He’ll lead the U.S. into celebration with news that the war is over and that the Nazis are dead. And to Bucky’s distaste, he’ll reunite with Peggy and fall in love all over again and - _No. Stop_ , he tells himself. For God’s sake, he’s acting like a embittered old woman. Peggy is a wonderful woman, and Steve deserves happiness ( _even if it’s not with him_ ).

It doesn’t even matter now anyway, he’s going to die...eventually.

Probably.

...what the everliving fuck did Zola even do to him in those labs?  Bucky’s always been in pretty good shape, but he’s also pretty sure that falling from that height and living isn’t actually humanly possible. And even if by chance he didn’t die at impact, the frost should have gotten to him now. He’d sigh in resignation if he knew the movement wouldn’t cause him intense pain.

God, he seriously wishes he could hear or move or do anything right now. He’s only able to face forward and look straight up, since he’s currently on his back and can’t rotate his neck in the slightest, and may he be the first to say that this view is shit. The constant snow hitting his face isn’t really that fun either.

He’s too busy trying to will himself into blowing some of the snow off his face to even notice a stranger approach. A sense of dread fills his self when he finally sees the tall, black figure from the corner of his eye. It takes all his power to cry out in refusal before the pain in his neck intensifies and his world goes black.

He really just can’t catch a break, can he?

-

He does not age. He is nothing. He is a weapon.

He knows what the Red Room tells him. He does what the Red Room tells him. He does not question the Red Room ( _there is nothing but the Red Room_ ).

The mission assignment is simple - capture a defector and find out what they know. What happens next is up to him, but he knows what the Red Room expects.

What they always expect.

He finds the defector hidden in a tiny, rural town hidden in some backwards, unknown country. Where? He does not know, nor does he care to. It is not necessary for the mission. He is not privy to this knowledge, for he does not need to know places, he just needs to know objectives.

The defector, at first glance, is careful and sure. They made the conscious decision to leave the Red Room ( _there is nothing but the Red Room_ ). They also made the conscious decision to start their new life here.

It was a wrong one.

He is quick and efficient. A weapon does not cause a bigger mess than necessary. If necessary, all trace evidence must be destroyed immediately ( _the scent of burnt flesh is like an old friend_ , he knows all too well).

Before the defector can even blink, darkness is upon him, as if death itself has appeared, bringing the scythe that ruins his soul in one foul swoop.

Leaving the Red Room is death, and their choice of weapon is the Winter Soldier (bringer of death).

( _there is nothing but the Red Room_ )

At first, the defector tries words. They attempt their so-called reasoning. They question him, the world, _the Red Room_. He does not listen. He does not reason. No one questions the Red Room (there is nothing but the Red Room).

Then the defector attempts force. The defector is weak. The defector is a failed weapon. The Winter Soldier is not.  

They fall fast, harshly, and with a growing sense of fear. Sweat forms at the crease of their brow, and their limbs shake slightly as they try to regain their footing.

He knows these signs. They are weaknesses.

The defector is pathetic. Not worthy of the Red Room ( _there is nothing but the Red Room_ ).

Finally, as if sensing their impending doom, the defector pleads. They drop down to their knees, hands turned up, pleading for their life.

_Please. Please. I have a little girl. Don’t do this. She’s all alone without me. Please God, don’t-_

He slices the defector’s throat with a quick work of his hand. He does not care for useless words.

For a weapon does not accept pleas. A weapon does not pity.

A weapon simply destroys.

(If he glances back and notices a small, red-haired child crouching next to the body, he says nothing. He has completed his objective. He will do nothing more. He will return to the Red Room.

After all, _there is nothing but the Red Room_ ).

-

He does not age. He is nothing. He is a weapon.

They bring him out of cryo at approximately 0900 hours, and tell him his next task. They explain that a man, deemed _Captain America_ by the public, is his newest target. They tell him that he is a menace to society, a complete hindrance to their plan and the new age they want to bring about. They tell him that this man must be destroyed.

He is freezing throughout all this, but no one seems to care. The pain that rakes through his body every few seconds is intense, but still no one seems to care ( _no one cares about a weapon_ ).

A new man arrives towards the end of the debriefing. He does not know this man, but he does not know any of these men, so he assumes it doesn’t really matter in the end.

The new man is different. He’s not a scientist, but he seems familiar with this area.

The man smiles a lot, and talks to him as if he’s a child. He finds it unnerving.

The newcomer asks him many questions, but tells him very little; the only information revealed is his name ( _Alexander Pierce_ ). He asks him if he understands what he has to do, if he understands the consequences that will occur upon failure to complete this mission.

He understands. He will not fail.

For what good is a weapon if it cannot be used for its designed purpose?

-

He does not age. He is nothing. He is a weapon.

His previous attempts at assassinating the man have gone awry. The Captain is a fearsome opponent and for once he wonders if he can be defeated. The man is strong, possibly stronger than him.

The reinforcements that traveled with him have dispersed themselves and are targeting the Captain’s allies. When they attacked the car, there were two other agents with him: a young, black man and a red-haired woman ( _oddly familiar_ ). His battle plans didn’t include the extra adversaries, but they will be taken care of accordingly.

After all, plans always do change he supposes.

The young, black man has been cornered off. He’s trapped on the bridge surrounded by the Soldier’s reinforcements, away from the Captain and the female agent. It won’t hold him off for long, but the barricade will hopefully give the Soldier enough time to dispose of his real target.

The red-haired woman is...missing or hiding, he’s not quite certain. After her sudden attack, he was quick to throw her off to the side. He vaguely remembers her hitting a car with a resounding thud, but he’s not certain. Not with his eyes on the real target.

He’s taller than the Soldier remembers. That brief glance on the rooftops, next to the Soldier’s apartment, after his assassination of Fury didn’t do him justice. Here, in the living flesh, he can see the sweat drip off his forehead, he can feel the heat of his glare and the intensity of his anger. He can see the soldier.

They seem to be at a standoff, with both the Soldier’s reinforcements and the Captain’s allies out of the picture, both parties are hesitant to make the first move.

However, unlike the Captain, he has an objective to meet. He moves quickly and with great fitnesse and just when he thinks he’s about to nail his target, a fist crashes up against the side of his face, removing his mask in the process. The Soldier continues to move and the Captain is steady in his retaliation, matching every blow with a block, and every block with a blow.

At the rate that the match is going, neither party is going to win and time is of the essence for the Soldier. He moves on the defensive, jumping back away from the Captain moving to escape. It’s only when he looks up and makes eye contact with him that the Captain stops his relentless hits. In fact, the face that the man makes makes it look like that the Soldier sucker-punched him, not the other way around.

“ _Bucky?_ ” the Captain asks, out of breath and filled with emotion that the Soldier can’t seem to place.

The Soldier’s not sure how to reply, but there’s something familiar about the name.

There’s something exceptionally familiar about the man who said it, now that he takes a real, clean look.

Time is still of the essence though, and, in the end,  a simple question settles the statement.

_“Who the hell is Bucky?”_

-

He does not - He is not - _Bucky_ is confused.

The Captain ( _Steve_ , a tired voice whispers in the back of his head) says he’s Bucky, but he’s not really sure who Bucky is. He’s not really sure who he is or he was or he could be. He’s just a man with a mission, or he was.

Everything’s a mess at this point. He’s following orders from a man who’s no longer able to give them. He’s a fighting a battle that he knows he’s going to lose. But when he stares down the man in front of him, blocking the way to save the city, he just feels _pain_.

And pain? Pain he remembers. Pain is an old friend. Pain he can handle.

He throws himself at Steve, pushing him off the ledge of bridge. They watch the chip slide down. It’s so close to the edge, all it’ll take is one more push and then it’s over ( _it’s all over_ ). He reaches over to smash the chip, but Steve pulls his leg out from under him and shoves him over. Steve’s got good leverage, but Bucky’s got a better grip, and he’s able to pull Steve along with him, leaving the chip hanging above their heads.

Bucky registers a quick blow to the head, but he’s too disoriented to move. By the time he’s conscious enough, Steve’s already making his way up the platform, chip in hand. With a slight of his hand, Bucky pulls out his gun and moves to shoot, aiming at first for Steve’s head, but then lower ( _his heart_ ). He’s itching to pull the trigger, but even through all the furious haze, something is stopping him. Mind made up, he lowers the gun and goes for three clean shots in Steve’s leg. Enough to stop, not enough to kill.

Like the powerhouse he is though, Steve keeps running. Bucky’s too far down to catch up and he resides himself to waiting. He’ll have to come down eventually.

The Winter Soldier will be waiting.

It doesn’t take more than a moment, and then Steve’s leaping from the platform, landing gracefully on his feet. He starts to trudge through the broken pieces of helicarrier, over to where Bucky’s laying on his side, back facing Steve. Bucky’ll have to work quickly. The carrier’s going down and it’ll take out everything out with it.

He waits until he sees Steve shadow hanging over him and then he strikes. Flipping over so quickly, he forces his hand on Steve’s throat and raises his fist in the air.

Steve says he doesn’t want to fight him. He doesn’t want to hurt Bucky, but Bucky, if that even is his name, doesn’t want to hear it. The new information rattles his mind, tearing up everything he previously held through and _God why won’t he **shut.** **up**_. He throws punch after punch, with no real skill or tact, just a blaze of emotion. Steve doesn’t move though. He doesn’t lay one finger on Bucky back and it just drives him more insane.

“Why won’t you fight back?” he hisses at a bloodied and bruised Steve.

“You’re my friend, Bucky.”

“You’re my mission,” Bucky seethes, raising his fist once more ( _the final blow_ ) and moves to force it down on Steve.

But then, Steve speaks again.

“That’s okay Buck, because no matter what, it’s just you and me, _till the end of the line_.”

Bucky freezes and his mind goes white, the only thing he registers is the sight of Steve hitting the water.

-

Bucky doesn’t know how old he is. Bucky doesn’t even really know _who_ he is, but he’s still here, at the Captain America exhibit, searching for answers all the same. He’s staring at what’s supposed to be his face, what’s supposed to be Steve’s, and all he can think about is the after events of Steve’s fall.

He’s not really sure what possessed him to jump in the water after Steve. It was like an invisible string pulling him to action. Bucky wasn’t really there. His body running on autopilot, it just felt _right_ to follow him (he has a feeling this isn’t the first time he’s followed Steve into death).

It didn’t take much to grab Steve’s limp body and pull him to shore. Steve’s big and heavy, but he still feels like the skinny kid from Brooklyn he used to know ( _still acts like the him, too_ ). Staring at that still face, one that held so much life, Bucky feels his chest constricting. He drops to his knees and struggles to breathe. The air is too thin, he tells himself, but he knows what it really is.

He takes his warm hand and drags it up Steve’s cold body, stopping to rest it on his chest, right above his heart. He closes his eye and counts the beats.

 _ba bump_. One. _ba bump_. Two. _ba bump_. Three.

Steve will be all right. Bucky knows he will ( _he always is_ ). And as much as Bucky wants to stay, he also knows he can’t. All the things he’s done, all the ways he’s caused chaos (and hurt, _so much hurt_ ) - he can’t stay with Steve.

He’ll ruin him; he’ll ruin the one good thing left in this world.

And Bucky can’t do that, so he’ll run instead. He’ll run like the coward he is.

He’ll run until he can’t run anymore. Till he collapses from exhaustion.

And then, he’ll just pick himself right back up ( _because there’s no Steve to help him_ ) and start again.

He wants to break down and scream. He wants to sob so quietly that not even God can hear it.

He wants to die. He wants to live.

“I want Steve,” he whispers, pressing his hand up against the exhibit’s glass.

He wants what once was, but can never be again, and the flashing picture in the display is right in front of his face, taunting him with smiles and friendship and _just_ -

If there’s a crack on the screen when he leaves, no one says anything.

After all, they’re there for the tragic hero, not the broken man.

-

Bucky is somewhere in his 90s and Steve is still looking for him. He’s getting better at smoking him out, but Bucky’s always one step ahead of him.

He hopes he can keep it that way. Steve’s relentless though. Not even a day passes after the helicarrier incident and Steve’s already scouring D.C., tearing it apart trying to find even a hint of Bucky.

Sometimes, Bucky purposefully leaves clues. They might not always be pointing Steve in the right direction, but they always give Steve the message that “Yes, I’m okay, but no, I’m not coming home just yet.”

D.C. is busy. It’s a lot different than the place he used to call home, and it’s unnerving to say the least. But Bucky doesn’t necessarily stick around the area, or even the state. He still has access to old Hydra funds and he definitely still has some unfinished scores to settle.

Scores he has to settle _alone_. 

(Whether or not Steve agrees with him.)

-

Bucky is probably 96 years old when Steve finally gives up searching, when he decides to try waiting instead. And now that Bucky knows Steve has finally settled down, he thinks it’s time for him to start really moving.

Officially leaving D.C. means leaving his comfort zone. It means leaving the easily accessible Steve, but it also means leaving all the constant heartache and confusion in wake of rediscovery.

The first place he goes to is a library. A history book isn’t everything, but it’s a start. And, the books there can also give him vital information that he’s missed over the years ( _the books there can tell him all the things he’s done, all the people he’s killed_ ).

The next place he hits is the museum - the one with the exhibit on Captain America and the Howling Commandos, on the history of the war ( _on what he meant to the world before it abandoned him_ ).

It’s crowded, the exhibit, and even though Bucky made sure to go on a weekday during prime office hours, the hall is still filled to capacity (mostly children, he notes, as one breezes past him carrying a red, white, and blue shield). He’s somehow attached himself to a small group of children ( _a herd more likely_ , he jokes to himself) led by a woman who seems to know what she’s talking about. She clearly works for the museum, but the glowing enthusiasm she displays while talking shows an immense love for the star-spangled man. As she nears the end of her speech, she turns to the other side of the board. Slowly, the group picture of the Howling Commandos morphs into a single shot of Bucky. It’s at this point where her tone gets sadder and her voice more soft-spoken. She talks about this great hero, a man best friend to Captain America, who tragically fell to his death helping the Captain complete his final mission.

Bucky scoffs and wants to correct her. He’s not a hero, not by any means. He was just the sap that followed Steve around and ended up falling off a train due to a stupid mistake. He opens his mouth to say something, but suddenly something tugs at his pant leg. Looking down, he sees a pair of bright blue eyes staring straight up at him and a mouth hanging open in shock.

“You’re him,” the little boy begins, but Bucky’s quick to shush him. Gently dropping down to his knees, Bucky places himself at eye level with the child. He places his fingers in front of his lips and the child smiles and repeats the gesture. Bucky gets up to leave, but before he fully turns the corner, he hears the pitter patter of tiny feet and feels a piece of plastic shoved into his hand.

Confused, Bucky looks down at the card and then back at the child.

The kid just smiles and says, “I think you need this more than me, mister,” before turning on his heels and hurrying to catch up with the rest of his class.

Five minutes later, Bucky is still in the same place, slightly trembling and clenching the _Official Bucky Barnes Trading Card_ tightly in his hand.

-

Bucky is 96 years old when he finds himself.

He doesn’t find himself in old newspapers or archives or even the museum with the Captain America exhibit. No, ironically enough, Bucky finds himself in a burnt out, run down, Mom and Pop shop that he and Steve use to frequent when they had some extra time (and some extra money).

Mr. and Mrs. Anderson ran it with the help of their two kids, Andy and Ollie (short for Oliver). And from what Bucky can remember, they were always a loving family who were generous to those in need, especially to Bucky and Steve, with the couple often lowering the price on some sandwiches for the boys. They both used to argue with the Andersons saying that they couldn’t accept the discount. Bucky vaguely remembers yelling _we don’t need your damn charity_ at one point with an embarrassed Steve by his side only to have Mrs. Anderson reply back with a gentle _consider it a gift sweetheart_. He later went back with some fresh flowers and an apology on his lips, but was quickly sat down at an empty table with a warm plate of pie - _fresh out of the oven_ she winked at him. It was probably the best damn pie he had ever tasted and made sure to take some home to Steve afterwards.

“That boy you got at home is much too skinny, James,” Mrs. Anderson would always tell him, “You gotta take good care of him and make sure he starts eatin’ right or I’m gonna have to come over there and do it for you!”

Bucky never stops worrying about Steve, but it was nice to have someone like Mrs. Anderson worry with him for a change.

“Call me Jeanie,” she would always say, “Mrs. Anderson makes me feel old.”

“Sure, Mrs. Anderson,” they’d both reply back with hidden laughter in their voice.

Sure, she’d scowl and whack them both upside the head with her dish towel, but it was all in good nature. It made Bucky and Steve feel at home, especially as children, when they knew they had no place to go.

Now, the place looks like one giant safety hazard with the doors and windows all boarded up and the charred remains of unknown substances laying at his feet. There’s no one around when Bucky rips the wood of a back window, but it’s not like anyone would’ve stopped him if there had been.

The layout of the place looks the same, but the smell of decaying wood and trash is new. Running his figures against the old countertops just ends up smudging them with what Bucky hopes is just a combination of dirt and dust and the place seems to be empty of all Mrs. Anderson’s knick-knacks.

His eyes pore through all the rubble and trash until he spots it.

Whether by the grace of a God Bucky had long thought abandoned him or just by luck of the draw, the table Bucky and Steve always use to sit at was still there. He pushes past broken chairs and quickly kneels down, minding the broken glass, but he’s right. He knows he is.

And if he just slides his hand a little bit over to the right - _there it is_.

It may too dark to fully make out the letters, but Bucky knows the etchings he feels in the table are his and Steve’s names, carved into the right side (placed there just before Bucky was sent off to war, so that Steve wouldn’t be alone whenever he came to the shop).

If Bucky closes his eyes, he can almost pretend it’s 70 years in the past. With Steve by his side, secretly holding his hand under the table, laughing as he used one of the knives from dinner to curve out their names.

“Oh Buck, Mrs. Anderson’s gonna be real angry when she sees that. You might have to buy her a new table,” Steve whispers into his shoulder. He’s failing to hide his own chuckles and that only further encourages Bucky.

“Well, as long as I get to keep this one, I wouldn’t mind buying her a new table.”

Steve just laughs and snuggles closer to Bucky, knowing that the restaurant is a safe haven where they won’t be judged.

The memory ends as quickly as it began and it leaves Bucky with an ache that he knows can’t be filled without Steve. The longer he stays in the abandoned building, the more the feeling grows and pulls at the strings in his chest. He pushes himself away from the table, slipping on the way back and falling on the shattered glass. His hand starts to bleed, but he welcomes the pain it brings.

He would take any pain as long as it wasn’t the searing one found in his heart.

-

Bucky is still 96 years old when he finds Steve (or when rather, Steve finds him).

After New York, Bucky came back to D.C. and never left the area again, something deep inside of his broken self wouldn’t let him.

He had already abandoned Steve once, he didn’t think he had it in him to do it again.

So, Bucky stayed, close enough to come to Steve’s aid if something happened (and something always happened), but far away enough that Steve couldn’t actively see him if he looked around. He knows Steve’s been trying to find him, even if he hadn’t been close by ( _not stalking_ , Bucky swears, _just making sure he stays safe_ ). Knowing Steve for years as its advantages, Bucky knows that Steve isn’t the type to just give up or, more specifically, give up Bucky (a character trait that has always left Bucky speechless and with a growing warmth in his heart).

Watching from a nearby building, Bucky can see the mounting stress hanging over Steve’s head. The crease in his brow is now permanently etched into his forehead and his shoulders constantly shrug down with a heavy sadness. It pains Bucky to watch, but looking away is even worse ( _coward_ , his conscience whispers, _you fucking coward_ ).

The weight that Steve must carry from these recent events is tremendous, but Bucky thinks the baggage that he would bring would weigh even more. It’s a no win situation any way you look at it, but Bucky can’t seem to will himself into changing the game.

One day, last week he thinks (he’s not sure, all the days seem to blur together without Steve), he got caught. Steve saw him, Bucky knows he did. Because Bucky stayed after securing a new hiding place, and the heartbroken look on Steve’s face said it all. Bucky wishes he could erase that look from his brain, he wishes even more that Steve didn’t care, if only so that he would stop hurting.

Never in a billion years did Bucky think that his friendship with Steve would ever turn out like this, like a long game of hide-and-seek where neither party wants to continue, but neither can stop. Bucky has fallen so far. He and Steve used to be a packaged deal, a buy one, get one free kind of thing that all their friends use to joke about (the Howling Commandoes especially).

Once, despite all his flaws, he could stand by Steve proudly and call him his friend. Now, he’s resorting to sitting on the tops of buildings watching Steve go about his daily life. It’s a hobby that Bucky wouldn’t say he’s proud of, but hey, it’s not like he’s got anything else to do (it easier to use this flimsy excuse than to admit the fact that he’s completely lost without Steve).

Right now, for example, Steve is sitting across the street in his favorite cafe.

...or at least what Bucky thinks is his favorite cafe. It’s not like Bucky can hop on down off the building and just ask. Anyway, Steve frequents it a lot, and always alone. Bucky’s seen countless women (and the occasional man) try to remedy that situation, but Steve appears relentless, politely saying no each time.

 _Good_. Bucky thinks, but then he backtracks because wow this watching (and secretly hoping) that all of those people crash and burn is getting a little bit out of hand. If Bucky’s not careful, he might actually wander into the ‘just plain creepy’ zone (he totally already did though, no matter what he tells himself).

Bucky doesn’t know what makes today different from any other day, but something inside him is pushing him towards Steve. To just take a leap of faith and see where it lands him. He gets up from his crouched position on the roof and uses the ladder on the side to scale down building. The cafe is only a few yards away, but it seems like miles. The tension in his shoulders is building up and weighing him down, and Bucky has to really force himself to take a step. Once he moves though, he doesn’t stop. Not until he’s smack dab in front of Steve himself.

Steve hasn’t looked up from the book he’s reading - something to do with art or history or both he supposes (Steve’s always been more of a nonfiction guy) - and if he’s noticed the new presence, he doesn’t seem to mind.

“Is this, uh, is this seat taken?” Bucky’s voice cracks as he gestures to the chair parallel to Steve’s.

If Steve’s surprised by Bucky, he doesn’t show it. The most Bucky can make out is a brightened look in his eyes.

“No, it’s not. You know… I was actually waiting for an old friend to drop by.” Steve replies with a growing smile.

“Well, better late than never, right?” He sits down quickly and places his hands on the table. His metal arm is completely covered by a tattered, gray hoodie Bucky picked up from a cheap store a couple blocks down. He may get a few odd looks for wearing the hoodie in the middle of the summer, but he’d rather have people thinking his fashion sense was skewed rather than ‘ _what happened to his arm?_ ’

“Yeah, you’re right, Buck...you want something to drink? They have really good coffee here.”

“Yeah sure. I’d like that,” Bucky offers up his own small smile in return. It feels good to be back with Steve. It feels normal ( _even if everything about him isn’t_ ).

The waitress comes by and Steve orders for him (plain coffee, black, no cream, no sugar). It makes Bucky think of the past, or at least the parts of the past he can remember. Everything’s still a bit blurry, but things are slowly coming back to him. Not all of them are good, in fact, most are pretty bad. But, in his opinion, the ones that aren’t all bad - the ones that are with Steve - make up for all the terrible ones.

They’re sitting in silence, but it’s a comfortable one. The waitress brings back his coffee and Steve’s right, it is amazing. He thinks back to the sludge he and Steve used to drink when it was available. He thinks about how excited they were that they could actually afford a luxury like coffee and it makes him choke on his drink in laughter. The pure look of adoration that shows across Steve’s face as he laughs makes him stop short though. Nervousness begins to gather at the pit of Bucky’s stomach and the laughter now sounds more fake than joyful. He tampers off into silence, while Steve’s demeanor takes on a sad drop. It’s obvious that something has to be said to break the now awkward silence, but Bucky doesn’t think either of them will make the first move.

In the end, it’s Steve that breaks first.

“God, Bucky, I’ve missed you.”

“Steve don’t-” Bucky starts, but Steve frantically cuts him off. He asks question after question and Bucky’s not entirely sure he’s even keeping up at this point, just nodding along.

“How have you been? Have you been eating well, sleeping well? Do you remember anything ( _do you remember me?_ )

“I don’t know, Steve… you know what, this was probably a bad idea. I think- I think I should just go,” Bucky moves to get up, but before he can react Steve’s jumping up and grabbing his shoulder from across the small table. The unexpected contact causes a knee-jerk reaction with Bucky and his other arm comes up and grabs Steve’s, squeezing it in a way he knows can’t be comfortable.

Steve opens his mouth and then closes it, momentarily stunned by the situation at hand. Taking a deep breath, Steve relaxes his hold on Bucky’s shoulder. The softer grip calms Bucky and he slowly stops his arm from bruising Steve’s until it’s just limply holding on. What a sight they must make. Two men, arms reaching out to one another. One trying to convince the other to stay.

“Please Buck...for old time’s sake? You don’t have to do anything you don’t want. You don’t even have to stay for a long time. I’m just asking for five minutes - just, please, Bucky,” his voice cracks and tears begin to collect in the corners of his eyes.

Bucky’s not really sure what to do at this point. He thinks that coming up to Steve in the first place was probably a big mistake, but it’s too late to do anything about it now. What he can do is try again, at least for Steve.

“Okay.”

Steve smiles, a genuine happy one, and Bucky finally, cautiously takes a seat.

He doesn’t get up to leave again.

-

Bucky is almost 97, and he comes home ( _to Steve_ ).

It’s a cold, rainy Wednesday, and Steve is returning from the supermarket when he feels two eyes staring straight into his back. He hunches his shoulders in defense, but relaxes once he realizes that nothing’s going to happen.

Well, at least not yet.

He enters his room, quickly puts his groceries away, and goes to sit on the couch to wait.

And Bucky’s watching it all. He sees everything, from the crease in Steve’s forehead to the relaxed disposition upon entering his home (he remembers when it was _their_ home). The decision to return had been tearing at him for days, practically ripping what was left of him at the seams. He could run, and punish himself for all the terrible things he had done. He could never see Steve again. After all, Steve deserved better. Steve deserved better in the 40s and he deserves even more in the 21st century.

He deserves the world, but all Bucky can give in him is the remains of a broken friend. There’s a tiny voice in the back of Bucky’s head whispering that Steve wouldn’t care, that he proved he didn’t care when he laid himself out under Bucky and took the beating (when he didn’t fight back), but it’s overpowered by the inner turmoil raking through Bucky’s self.

On the flip side of things, on the side where he stops running ( _stops being a coward_ ), Bucky knows he could be happy with Steve. It’s all he’s ever wanted, and now, he can fulfill that dream. He can have a life with Steve, albeit an offbeat and slightly damaged one. But still a life - something he had never even considered before while under the rule of the Red Room and, later, Hydra.

A lot has changed. He’s not the same man he was before. But then again, neither is Steve. They’ve both seen war, death, the loss of innocence, and they’ve both come out bearing scars. He knows deep down that he will never ever find another person like Steve. No one could ever relate to him. No one could ever fill the burning hole inside his chest except Steve. The months he’s spent avoiding Steve (avoiding the possibility of a happy future) have left him with an ache that leaves him short of breath and a numbness in his body.

Without even noticing, Bucky has slowly been easing his way closer to the door of Steve’s little townhouse. It’s cute, he thinks to himself, and the ghost of a smile passes through his lips. Mr. United States gardens, who would have thought? ( _He would have, or at least, old Bucky would've._ )

Bucky always tried to be a good man. Always tried to be the man Steve believed him to be. And time and time again, Bucky would fail. But he never gave up, and for that, Bucky was proud. He may not be the picture-perfect golden child, but he never stepped down, especially from a challenge.

James Buchanan Barnes is many things, but he is not a runner.

Not anymore.

-

Bucky is 97 years old, but he’s almost made it to 98 and that has to mean something. He has to let Steve know that it means something.

So, when he slams open the front door and throws himself onto Steve, kissing him and handing over his everything just to be with the man at least one more time, he doesn’t regret it.

Once the shock settles with Steve, the arms around Bucky’s back tighten and the kisses become more frantic. Bucky can tell that Steve’s afraid. Steve’s afraid that if he lets go, Bucky will leave again and Bucky doesn’t really blame him. He’d think that too if he was in Steve’s position.

But, he’s not going to do that. He’s not running away from Steve ( _from his one shot at happiness_ ). Instead, he’s pulling Steve tighter - practically molding his body to Steve’s. He’s been missing this for seventy years; he’s decided that he’s not gonna miss this for one second more.

Steve breaks the kiss first. His breaths are short, though heavy, and Bucky’s reminded of the days when Steve had asthma and he had to sit still for a few minutes to regain his breath.

It looks like Steve’s about to say something important, but all that comes out is a breathy “ _Bucky_ ” and it takes all of his power not to jump Steve again. God, how he’s missed this ( _how he’s missed Steve_ ).

“Talk later,” Bucky practically moans into Steve’s ear.

“Promise?” Steve asks, pushing Bucky back to hold him at bay, “Promise you just won’t up and leave afterwards.”

Saying yes would force Bucky into a corner. He’s not being threatened, at least not with anything that isn’t love, but still Bucky’s not the biggest fan of ultimatums.

But he’s also not the biggest fan of abandoning Steve, so only one of those choices can come out on top.

“God yes, Steve. I promise you. I promise you everything. Just please, I need this. _I need you._ ”

It’s unsurprising that Bucky chose Steve. Bucky’s been choosing Steve his entire life. The decision might have been a little harder this time, but the outcome will always be the same. He will always choose Steve ( _and Steve will always choose him_ ).

At Bucky’s final declaration, Steve kicks the front door shut (in all this madness, Bucky actually forgot about it. If he wasn’t so busy trying to confess his love, he’d laugh at the possible scandalised looks from Steve’s neighbors. He can picture the headlines now _September 27th: the Night Freedom Really ‘Came’ to America_ ). Pulling Bucky’s arm (the good one, Bucky notes, something he’s very glad for), Steve leads him to a bedroom at the end of the hallway, bypassing both the kitchen and living room so quickly that Bucky doesn’t even get a good look.

Steve lets go of Bucky, throws open the door, and waits. He’s confused at first, but then he realizing what’s going on - Steve’s giving Bucky a way out, it’s his own subtle hinting that Bucky doesn’t have to do this, that Bucky doesn’t have to want him back ( _but God damn does he_ ).

Bucky answers the unspoken question with a sharp bite at Steve’s lips and a growled out _don’t be stupid_. He grabs Steve’s collar and practically shoves him inside the room, kicking the door behind him closed.

“So...I take it we’re really doing this,” Steve laughs into Bucky’s hair.

“I’ve waited over 70 years to do this, Steve. Like hell we’re stopping,” Bucky says, fisting his hands in Steve’s hair. He kissing Steve everywhere he can reach, his mouth, his cheeks, eyes, nose; it’s when he slowly trailing his lips down Steve’s neck, he hears Steve make a sound. It’s not quite a moan, but it’s more than a gasp and it takes all of Bucky’s power to not come from that sound alone (the sound of Steve losing himself under Bucky’s control).

Continuing his ministrations on Steve’s neck, he slowly glides his fingers up under Steve’s shirt (Did Steve keep his wardrobe from the 1940s? He wonders why the shirt is so damn tight), stroking his sides and muttering words of love with each kiss, lick, and suck.

Steve finally moves his arms. They’d been gripping Bucky’s hips for the longest time, but now they’re repeating the gestures Bucky’s made on him and nothing’s ever felt more right in this moment.

Bucky must’ve said something similar to that in his mumblings, because Steve pulls back and smiles, “I don’t know, Buck. That time we came back from that bar was pretty nice. I always thought it was a damn shame how we never got to repeat it.”

Shock drifts across Bucky’s face and he throws his head up, staring straight into Steve’s eyes.

“You remember that night?”

“Of course, I remember that night, Buck. It was probably the best night of my life. Well, best night until reuniting with you.”

Bucky’s struggling to find words and the shock must show on his face because Steve speaks again.

“I never said anything because I was afraid you’d call it a mistake. I was afraid you wouldn’t want to be my friend anymore, that you’d move out and forget all about me...I guess  that wasn’t the case, and God, Buck, I wish I said something all those years ago.”

For the first time in a long time, Bucky lets out an actual laugh. “We were both idiots. But we know now, and that’s all that matters, right?”

“Yeah,” Steve replies with a wistful smile, “that’s all that matters.”

Steve leans in for a kiss, and it’s soft and slow, full of emotion. Nothing like the frantic, wet kisses from before. This is a simple kiss that conveys such a complex feeling. Steve pulls Bucky forward until his legs hit the bed and he’s forced to sit down. Bucky helps him slide off his shirt, feeling his uncovered chest along the way. It’s smooth and unmarked ( _beautiful_ he thinks), and he knows it’ll be such a sharp contrast to his own. Steve doesn’t seem to be slowing down though, and now that he’s on the bed, he makes his next challenge removing Bucky’s shirt.

It’s not an easy glide like Steve’s was. It catches on the metal of his arm and makes Bucky wince with apprehension. As if noticing his distress, Steve slows to a stop and holds his hand firmly at Bucky’s shoulder. He waits for a nod before he continues removing it all the way, and Bucky’s glad for the reassurance. He’s glad for the control.

With his shirt removed, his protection is gone and Steve’s left to stare at the mess of scars and burns on his body. Steve traces his fingers over the deepest scar, burned red with rage and pink around the edges. He then moves to the outside of Bucky’s chest, to the slope of his shoulder, and the beginnings of the merge between flesh and metal. Instead of being repulsed like Bucky feared, he’s given a look filled with so much love that it burns through his system, leaving marks that will never fade, even with time.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers before he pulls Bucky’s head down for a gentle kiss. To maintain his balance, Bucky has to spread his knees apart, one on either side of Steve’s on the bed.

He breaks the kiss, “Do you, I mean, um, are you, move?”

Despite the stumbling of words, Steve gets the message and with a gentle push, slides Bucky off his knees and moves up to the center of the bed.

He’s just sitting there and Bucky thinks he’s staring at a blonde haired, blue-eyed angel. But it’s just Steve.

And it’s okay. No, it’s _wonderful_.

He crawls up the center of the bed and settles over Steve once more. He can feel Steve against himself, their hips slotting into place, encouraging him to grind down and release the tension found there.

There’s a _click_ of a belt buckle being undone  and Bucky realizes it’s his own. Steve, in Bucky’s distraction, has unbuttoned his jeans and slowly slid the belt out of his pant’s loops. He supposes he should help Steve out, and sits up straight to help Steve remove the rest of his pants, leaving him with nothing on. His hard, dick pressing up against his stomach, and Steve?

Well, the look on Steve’s face is priceless, and his voice is breathy when he goes “So, I guess you, uh, you go commando…?”

“Yeah Steve,” he says with a grin (looking like the cat ate the canary), “I _go_ commando.” ( _I was one_ , he sniggers to himself.)

“Uh, that’s...nice. Real nice.”

“It’ll be even nicer when you join me,” Bucky says, leaning in with a devilish smile, breath hot on Steve’s face.

He’s never seen Steve move so quickly before. Shoving Bucky off, he rushes to unbutton and unzip his pants. One leg gets caught on his foot and Bucky has to resist the urge to laugh, opting to assist him instead. The boxers are another thing. Not wanting to waste the time, Bucky just rips the shorts down the side, causing Steve to laugh out loud.

“Glad I’m not the only one in a hurry, Buck,” he says in between chuckles.

“Awh, shut it, Rogers and get your ass back over here,” Bucky states, gesturing to the spot next to him on the bed.

Steve moves back in place and Bucky finally gets the chance to look at him, really look at him, and it’s better than he’s ever dreamed of. His cock is there, lying hard on his stomach, and Bucky wonders what it tastes like.

He decides to find out.

The gasp that shutters out of Steve is something that he’ll be hearing in his dreams for ages to come, and as he licks a long strip up the side, he takes a look up at the face of the man he loves. Seeing Steve, lost in pleasure ( _pleasure Bucky's giving him_ ) is the most beautiful thing Bucky has ever seen. He wonders what other expressions he can get Steve to make. He’s done with the tentative licks up and down the side of his shaft. Taking a breath, he swallows Steve down, sucking hard as Steve’s hands rush into his hair, gripping it tightly. Barely a second passes before Steve pulls him off, rubbing a thumb under Bucky’s bottom lip.

“Fuck, Bucky, if you keep that up, I won’t be able to last,” he says, struggling to catch his breath.

He pulls Bucky’s lips up to his and kisses his taste away. “Are you ready?” he whispers, knowing the answer already.

“I’ve been ready for a lifetime, Steve.”

With that last thought, Steve, eyes shining from would-be tears, presses one more gentle kiss to Bucky’s lips and reaches over to his side dresser, opens the top drawer, and pulls out a small bottle of lube.

He takes the bottle from Steve’s hand with a small smile, and covers his hand with enough that his fingers will slide in easy. Steve lays back, spreading his legs and bringing his knees up, and Bucky takes a deep breath before moving in. The devotion shining through Steve’s eyes is extraordinary. This much love, this much trust for him, for Bucky. Maintaining eye contact, Bucky slides his first finger in. It’s tight, but Steve’s face remains neutral.

Steve nudges Bucky’s fingers, encouraging him to slip in another. Pressing two fingers in, Bucky slowly begins to move and stretch Steve’s hole. He sees Steve make a slight grimace and he slows down, but Steve nods at him to continue. Bucky pulls out and Steve whines at the loss of contact.

“It’s okay, baby. I’m here. I’m still here, baby,” Bucky whispers, stroking his hand up and down Steve’s leg. “I’ll always be here.”

“You promise,” Steve whispers to him, voice choking.

“Yeah. Promise,” he whispers back, giving Steve a soft, closed-mouth kiss.

“Are you ready?” Bucky asks, and when Steve gives a nod, he positions himself over Steve and slowly slides in.

Bucky grunts as he sinks into Steve, careful not to thrust quickly so Steve can adjust. But, the heat is incredible, and Steve is so tight, so soft and slick. For the first time in his life, Bucky feels complete. All those fumblings he had in his childhood, they were nothing compared to what he’s experiencing now. Steve whines at him to do _something_ , growing restless with Bucky’s stillness. Bucky begins to move, thrusting in and out, building up speed.

With each quickening thrust, Steve mewls get louder and louder. His hands are dragging up the length of Bucky’s back, leaving reddening nail marks all along it. Bucky’s rhythm falters and his thrusts are becoming more and more erratic. Sliding his hands up into the ends of Steve’s hair, Bucky grips the strands tight and pulls Steve’s wet mouth to his.

The searing kiss sends Steve over the edge and then he’s gone completely, crying into Bucky’s mouth as his orgasm overtakes him. Cock pulsating between the two men, white come covering Steve’s stomach. Seeing Steve finally lose control, so overwhelmed and disheveled, as he clenches and pulses around Bucky’s cock brings Bucky over the edge with him, tearing a deep moan out of him. He fucks Steve harder, faster for a few moments as he comes with a cry before stilling. Steve moans at the warmth of Bucky’s orgasm and Bucky collapses on top of his body, sweaty and spent.

Bucky stays like that long enough to catch his breath. He feels Steve’s come drying beneath him, creating a sticky sensation. It’s nice, his head against Steve chest, listening to their heart beats sync up. It’s simple and it’s sweet and it’s all _Steve_. With a groan, Bucky rolls off him. Steve’s strong, but it can’t be that comfortable having Bucky lay all over him, so he has to move.

Lying back, chests heavy with so much emotion, Steve turns to his side and lays his head on Bucky’s chest, now cold with sweat. The air is heavy with a comfortable silence and the boys both begin to drift slowly into sleep. Before Steve closes his eyes, he whispers a secret to Bucky, not expecting a response back. It’s to his surprise and his greatest pleasure when he does.

(“I love you, Buck.”

“I love you too, Steve.”)

-

Bucky is a week from 98, and the house is still fucking cold, but Steve’s arms are really warm and their bed is really soft. Nothing like what Steve and he had to use back in the day. And for that, Bucky’s glad ( _he’s glad about a lot of things now, he’s especially glad about Steve_ ).

If you had asked Bucky a week ago where he would be now, the idea of laying in bed with Steve wouldn’t have even crossed his mind. It wouldn’t have even been a possibility. He probably would’ve just ignored you.

But now he has Steve ( _but really, he’s always had Steve_ ). So, his response would probably be a little different.

At this point, he’d probably glare at you instead. And if you ask Steve that’s tremendous progress, a completely natural (and very human) response for Bucky, considering what he’s been through.

Personally, Bucky just thinks he’s getting better at showing people how much he hates them rather than letting them just assume (Steve, of course, doesn’t find this as funny as Bucky does).

Joking aside, it’s hard. It’s really, really hard and every day is a struggle for Bucky. Every loud noise makes him jump, every new person he meets causes an immediate distrust. The things that once made Bucky human before are now what set him off, what make him afraid ( _afraid of himself, of what he can do_ ).

Steve’s great, amazing ( _perfect_ ), and Bucky doesn’t know what he would’ve done without Steve ( _what he would’ve done to Steve if he had fought back_ , he winces to himself). Bucky didn’t deserve Steve back in the 40s, and he sure as hell doesn’t deserve him now, but still Steve’s here ( _with Bucky_ ), so that’s a miracle in itself.

Despite all the progress, Bucky still struggles. He still has panic attacks sometimes. And sometimes he’ll forget where he is or who he’s with or even who he is. But Steve’s always there with soothing words and a gentle rubbing on his back, once he’s okay with being touched.

Because no matter how broken Bucky gets or how different Steve seems, they will always fall back together, perfectly synchronised down to the last heart beat.

_Because it’s you and I, till the end of the line._

-

-

Bucky is six years old when he meets Steve.

He’s ninety eight when he marries him.

-

_END_


End file.
